One Slip
by AstroGirl
Summary: Braca and Teeg: sex, loyalty, and death. Nonexplicit het.


**One Slip**

**by AstroGirl**

From his duty station, he watches her as she speaks to the Captain. _Speaks._ He suppresses an urge to laugh at that. She speaks with _much_ more than her words. A casual touch on Crais's arm, a warm glint in her eyes, the way her body inclines toward his. She can't possibly realize how obvious she's being.

It's disgusting. That kind of unhealthy attachment... And to a superior officer! Braca shakes his head as he turns back to the reports scrolling across his screen. It's a great pity, he reflects. Teeg is a good officer: competent, efficient, loyal...

He looks up again and sees her smiling at some offhand remark from Crais. Loyal, yes, but to whom? Crais' orders have become more and more erratic lately, and Teeg has obeyed them all without question. Which is her duty, of course, but there is obedience and there is obedience, and her eagerness in support of Crais is beginning to become disturbing. A Peacekeeper's first duty is to the service as a whole. Always. Personal loyalties, personal affections... Braca simply cannot understand how anyone, any _true_ Peacekeeper, could possibly allow such things to muddy her thinking.

When the Captain has left, he makes his way over to her, casually checking a readout on the station next to hers. "Lieutenant," he says quietly. "If I may offer a word of advice?" He's treading in dangerous territory, he knows. His authority on this ship is formidable, but it is still subject to hers. But something moves him -- Pity? Comradely concern? Fear of losing a good officer for a bad reason? -- and he finds he simply can't remain silent.

She looks at him coolly. "Yes?"

He glances in the direction Crais has gone, half-afraid of seeing him reappear. "It's really none of my business, ma'am, but the Captain..." He attempts an ingratiating smile. "It's becoming rather difficult not to notice your... preoccupation with him. People are starting to talk."

She regards him silently, impassively, but he continues talking because he's gone too far now to stop. Quietly, he says, "It's no good anyway, you know. I don't know if you've heard the rumors about him and Lieutenant Larell, but it's said they only ever recreate with one another." He makes no attempt to hide his expression of disgust; it's only to be expected when addressing such a topic. "You'd do much better to look elsewhere for release."

She says nothing for a moment, blue eyes boring coldly through him, and he is about to mutter an apology and retreat when she finally speaks. "Are you offering, Lieutenant?"

"Ma'am?" In his surprise, the word comes out louder than he intends, and he glances hastily around the command deck. No one seems to be paying them any attention.

"Do you have a problem with your hearing?" Her words are clipped, emotionless. "I asked if you were offering."

In truth, the thought had not occurred to him. Braca much prefers men as recreational partners, and he's never so much as glanced twice at Teeg. But he looks now, taking in the glossy sheen of her pulled-back hair, the icy glint of her eyes, the soft severity of her face, and he realizes, somewhat to his surprise, that she isn't entirely unappealing. "Do you want me to?"

She looks him up and down. "Meet me at my quarters after duty shift," she says and turns away.

* * *

His expectations are low, but she surprises him completely: she is enthusiastic, creative, even considerate. He wonders, briefly, whether she is imagining him to be Crais, but he can't really find it in himself to care. It's the best recreation he's had in monens, possibly in cycles, and he lies resting in her bed afterward long past the point where it would be proper to put his clothes back on and go.

"Teeg," he says, and she looks at him expectantly, probably wondering if he's finally going to leave now, or wondering if he's about to request another assignation or ask for feedback on his technique. Those would all be sensible things to do, but Braca isn't feeling sensible, and he'll never be entirely sure, later, why he says what he does. Perhaps it's just sex-hormones coursing through his system, making him stupid. There are reasons why soldiers are advised to recreate after battle, rather than before. But he feels an unfamiliar surge of tenderness towards her, an odd sense that he owes her... something.

He licks his lips. "There's something you should be aware of. Crais... There are those on this ship who feel his command is slipping. That he's becoming... unsuitable. Some of us -- some of _them_ -- have contacts in High Command. He may not be a good person to be attached to, very soon. I thought... I think you should be careful."

She stares back at him, her eyes intensely blue in the paleness of her face. "Thank you," she says softly. If there is any flicker of emotion in her expression, he doesn't see it. She says nothing more as he nods, and dresses, and leaves, a smile still on his face.

It isn't until he awakens suddenly, alone, in the middle of the night that he realizes what he's done. He wonders if he will lose his life when she informs on him to Crais, or only his career. He wonders which of the two things would be worse.

* * *

The next day, the Captain tells him she is dead. He looks into Crais's eyes and sees no hint of knowledge or suspicion. So he nods solemnly at the news, says the appropriate things and tries, above all, to show no sign of the overwhelming emotion he feels.

Relief. Deep, euphoric, triumphant relief.

Cycles later, when he finally understands her, he will regret that reaction most of all.


End file.
